


Show me what you're hiding

by weirdlittlecookie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fire, Frottage, implied canon violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 13:49:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1268707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weirdlittlecookie/pseuds/weirdlittlecookie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia's POV, three scenes.<br/>After Peter learns he's "not only an uncle" but fails to pry the whole truth from Lydia he shows up at her home, demanding it. Lydia sets her own rules.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Show me what you're hiding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shippingwolves.tumblr.com](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=shippingwolves.tumblr.com).



> A dribble that started en route home and expanded in the Pydia drought. Hope you like it. Also posted in Tumblr, you can drop by at shippingwolves if you have a prompt in mind ;)

"I want to know more."

Lydia isn’t startled by the dark mass hunching over the edge of their kitchen counter. She flicks on the lights and picks an apple from the side table, rolling it in her hands as she comes to stand on other side of the counter to consider Peter’s hunched-up shoulders and avoiding eyes.

The fact he has somehow snuck into her house and made himself a cup of coffee does not surprise her the slightest, inanity of the act quite tedious actually. What does give her a little surprise is the adamant tone of his words - Peter is walking a thin line in regard of his self-control. If she didn’t know any better she might even describe it as  _desperate_. And that gives her something to work with.

"Or else —- you do what, exactly?"

"Or else… I take your mother out on a date." Peter looks up from his coffee, there’s no mirth in his look. The apple slips from Lydia’s hold, rolling across the counter before going over the edge. Peter catches it mid-air, placing it back between them. Able to gain some of her senses Lydia grabs his wrist, and for some reason Peter lets her. He merely takes deep breath, waiting for Lydia to mull things over.

How dare he threaten her? Threaten her mother? She doesn’t care about the fact Peter doesn’t look exactly happy himself, like he’s delighted to mess up her life some more. But she knows him well enough to know he’d do it to get what he wants. And right now he needs it something bad. Fueled by her fury she leans forward, soliciting one firm slap across Peter’s face. And he lets her, has the decency to look affected by it.

Lydia brings her hand back, the tingling spreading all over her palm, but she doesn’t let go of his wrist. He still lets her keep it, seemingly subdued to her will. She keeps her expression closed as she lets her eyes rake over Peter - his face, his open palms, the line of his shoulders and strong arms. Lydia feels her stomach twist at the sight, the way Peter gives her power over him creating a warm pool in her. Peter takes a sharp breath, and they both know what he picked up from the scent around them. Even Lydia can practically smell it. The sex, the want. Peter’s hand under hers tremors slightly but he keeps it in place, his entire frame has gone rigid.

"If I help you, you’ll leave my mother alone. For good."

Peter slowly nods, waiting for the other condition he can feel dangling in the tip of Lydia’s tongue.

"And I want something from you."

His voice tight he asks, “What is it?”

She cocks her head to the side, a predatory smile on her lips. “You. At my service. When I call, you come running.”

Peter huffs out a laugh, gaining some of his usual composure. “You say jump, I ask how high? Aren’t you forgetting who you’re asking to be your beck’n’call?”

"I know  _exactly_  who I’m asking.” To make her point, Lydia squeezes the wrist, raising one eyebrow as she waits for a reply. Peter doesn’t move away.

She leads them away from the counter to the dining room table, and lets go of Peter’s wrist as they come to stand next to it. With one finger poking his chest Lydia maneuvers Peter against the table and pushes him to sit on it, quickly following herself. Her skirt hitches up from the position, her legs sprawled over Peter as she makes herself more comfortable in his lap.

Peter’s eyes flash blue but otherwise he keeps himself in check, not even risking a touch. He smirks, starts to say something about the skirt but ends up gasping as Lydia rolls her hips forward, grinding down hard against him. His hands raise on instinct to support her, nails digging into the leather.

Gripping Peter’s chin Lydia angles it toward the side and captures his lips with her own. She runs her tongue over the seam of Peter’s lower lip before biting down on it, eliciting a growl deep from Peter’s chest and he loses his last bit of self-control. He flips them over, pinning Lydia tight against the table. Lydia wraps her legs around Peter, arching her back for more friction as she sucks on the battered lip. Peter groans and slides a hand up Lydia’s thigh, pushing the hem of her skirt even further up. But Lydia fists his hair, pulling enough to break their kiss in an obscene wet pop. Peter’s eyes are glazed, cheeks flushed as he looks down to Lydia.

"That is enough." Her breathing still hard but otherwise in full control, Lydia stares him down.  _From under him_ , causing Peter to shiver from the show of power.

"Oh, you’re telling me what to do?"

"You have to learn who’s in charge here, and it certainly isn’t you."

Peter leans in again, slow enough for her to stop him if she wants. Lydia follows the movement, lets Peter nuzzle the side of her neck as he inhales her scent before he brings his lips over to her ear,

"I think I’m starting to get the picture."

 

\-----

 

"You can’t be serious."

Peter’s eyes dart down to the nail polishes in front of him and then back to Lydia, just in time to see her roll her eyes.

"Not like I’m asking you to put it on yourself. And think of this as me fulfilling my role as a narcissistic teenage girl."

They’re at the loft, just the two of them, with Derek still cooped up with Chris at the Sheriff’s Department and the rest of them trying to figure out how to help Stiles.  _God, Stiles_..

She snaps back, flicks her hair over her shoulder and concentrates on the one thing she can control.  _Peter_. Who’s looking as cold and homicidal as ever, making her feel as homey as ever.

"Pick a color. And keep in mind you’re being evaluated on your choices."

Peter gives her one of his teeth rottingly sweet smirks and picks up a bottle of red from the table. It matches her lipstick.

"So you do pay attention," she responds just as sweetly and places her hands flat against the table. Peter twists the cap in slow movements, letting his expression convey where he would rather be sticking the thing.

They had been doing this for almost a week now, Lydia coming to him on the most inane tasks she could possibly think of, right down to erasing all old pencil notes from her text books. Sometimes, most times, she would be sitting on his lap when he did these. When she was feeling particularly bored she would wriggle a little and listen to Peter growl and curse. He loathed the assignments, her along with them, and she couldn’t be more thrilled about it. With everything else a mess she revels in the steady stream of conniving with a hint of crazy Peter provides like oxygen. And she really needs to breathe. She desperately wants to feel like her old self again, and this is the way to do it. She knows Peter will let her know when he’s had enough, she just hopes it comes across verbally for once. It says a lot when even that doesn’t make her stop.

As she looks at Peter’s handiwork she wonders why she hadn’t thought about this before - werewolf hands are steady. There’s not a miss-stroke in sight and he’s keeping the coats just the right thickness to dry quickly and evenly. She narrows her eyes at that.

"You wouldn’t happen to moonlight as a cabaret dancer?"

Peter looks up to her, taking a moment to asses her expression. She understands why, her question wasn’t as daunting as she hoped it to be and real curiosity shone through on every corner. Peter ducks his head back down, dipping the brush in the bottle and swiping the residual on the rim in a meticulous manner. This time he carefully lifts Lydia’s hand to turn the thumb more directly toward him before he speaks.

"My daughters used to make me do this, wouldn’t let their mother do it to for any reason. And I do have a natural talent for detail, as you know."

Peter’s voice is casual but he doesn’t look at her. There’s no flinch or pause in his stance and yet she feels he’s gone rigid. The air around them feels thick, curling and seeping in under their clothes.

At first Lydia thinks the sudden sharing in Peter’s part merely shocked her - not like he goes around sharing tidbits of his past without any torture involved, nail polish aside - but then the air feels nearly tangible and it’s filled with whispers. Lydia cocks her head to the side, listening to it like Peter has been trying to teach her.

It’s a story of two little girls, sweet and full of life, laughing as their memory takes them to the woods. Woods around Beacon Hills she realizes. The speed they move through the thick forest is inhuman and when the sun manages to push through the leaves their eyes shine werewolf golden. It’s beautiful and she feels like smiling with them. But then the heat of the sun turns to fire, a monster that consumes till there’s nothing but ash. The laughter turns to scream.

A shake wakes her and for a moment Lydia can’t focus her gaze. Then there’s a pair of blue eyes searching hers, looking for recognition. She’s still holding Peter’s hand, her grip fierce, nails sinking in to his skin and causing scratches that are already healing.

"What did you see?" It’s nearly a demand but only nearly and Lydia grabs onto it. She shakes her head, and for the love of all that is mighty, Peter lets it be. She decides her relief, the smell incorporated with it, can be a thank you. He accepts it with an easy smile she doesn’t trust for a second. She frees her hand and lifts it to eye-level. The coating is ruined and she gives him a sympathetic pout.

"Aww, I think somebody has to do these all over again."

This time she offers her hand to Peter directly and her heart skips a beat as he takes it almost delicately and starts to clean away the old coat.

They sit in silence but now the mood is light and warmer than before, as if it had been purified. Lydia is sure she should worry about the quiet companionship forming between them but right now she decides she doesn’t care. She’s relaxed, nobody is in imminent danger and she is getting the best manicure of her life. Nowadays she takes her victories where she can get them. She wonders if she’ll be able count Peter in those and her stomach flips.

 

\-----

 

The loft door looks different in the morning light. Lydia follows the frame, noting the chipping paint and splintering wood all the across it. The lock itself is rusty and practically falling off but who would be stupid enough to break into a werewolf’s home anyway. 

She’s stalling. Usually she would have slided the door open and walsed in without a moment’s notice - if Peter hadn’t been decent then, well, it would have just been Karma telling her to follow suit. Sadly for her no such occasion had occurred and after last night’s shouting match the possibility might be removed from their cards altogether.  

And the evening had started out so well. Lydia had packed all her favorite lip glosses, determined to test which one of them tasted best when kissed. More specifically, when she wasn’t the one wearing them. However when she had gotten to the loft Peter had already been waiting for her. His smile had been wide and condecending when he regarded Lydia, politely informing her he was done “playing house” for her amusement. So she might have, possibly, lost her temper.  

“Don’t you dare act righteous around me. Like I’m the one childishly keeping secrets. I know you, Peter. I know you lied about the daughters.” 

Peter’s jaw had gotten tight, the false mirth melting away and leaving behind warning expression. Lydia had ignored it. 

"There’s a lot of whispers around you when you know how to listen, and I do. They talk about a woman, someone who was a little older than you, with twin girls. But they were sick so you got Talia to offer them the bite. And you became a dad overnight.” 

She stepped closer and lowered her voice to soft whisper. 

"And you know what? I think you loved it. You might come off as a bad man but what you really are is a mistreated puppy who just wants to be scratched behind the ears. But I’m not letting you ruin somebody else’s life just because you want to play daddy again.” 

Lydia can’t help the grimace passing her face as she thinks back to it, no matter how much Peter had deserved to hear it. For a moment he hadn’t said anything, and then he had told her to leave. When she hadn’t more yelling ensued, that time from the both of them. Plates had flown, probably the only ones Derek owned. She makes a mental note to buy new plates. And glasses. And cups, definitely a set of them. 

And she’s still stalling. If Peter was in he would already be aware of her standing outside like an idiot. The thought has her flicking her hair, straightening her dress and slide the door aside. She hadn’t been sure what to expect but this certainly wasn’t it. 

The whole place is covered in shards, looks like Derek owned a few more glasses and damn they had been nice ones, and in the middle is Peter stretched over a table, looking very much passed out. 

Lydia walks over to him, carefully avoiding the largest pieces, and comes to stand right beside him. She pauses for a moment, taking in the slightly ragged look before slapping him across the face. Peter stirs, blinking and yawning as he stretches even further. Lydia tries not to think how cute he looks and instead she crosses her arms and says 

"I thought werewolves can’t get drunk." 

"They can, it just takes a little effort." he says, smiling sleepily. He sits up, eyes raking over Lydia. “Don’t tell me you’re here because you grew a conscience.” 

"I forgot my favorite lipstick." She snips back despite the fact she knows Peter can practically smell the lie and carries on to wrinkle her nose at him. 

"You should go take a shower, you look horrible.” 

Peter nods and hops off the table, the shards crunching under his shoes. “You could stay and clean up, or even better, come and join me,” he suggests, grinning wildly.  

"I think I’m going to get started here." She responds, already moving to find a broom and a dustpan.  

"Suit yourself. The offer stands though." 

Peter disappears into the bathroom and Lydia lets out a sigh. This isn’t going at all like she thought it would. Why isn’t he angry? From the look of the place he must have been upset at some point and yet she still gets the distinct feeling of having been played. As Lydia finishes brushing the shards into one big pile Peter saunters back from the shower, towel low on his hips and another over his shoulders. There’s no point trying to hide how much she loves the sight of his solid muscles moving under tan skin and the narrow trail of body hair that dives under the towel. Lydia’s mouth waters and she has to bite her lips to keep the moan from escaping. She gives herself a mental slap and pointedly turns away to brush the last of the shards onto the dustpan. 

Peter comes to sit on the edge of the table, not bothered by the chill and keeps on smiling. Lydia narrows her eyes and crosses her arms as she comes to stand across from him. 

"You planned this whole thing, didn’t you?" 

Peter laughs, ducking his head for a moment and then lifting it back to face her. “How could I resist? You were so adorable with all the huffing and puffing. And then the subsequent care-taking,” he says, gesturing around them. 

It annoys her to admit how easily he maneuvered her. ”I’m still not telling you who the kid is.” Lydia tries but she has a feeling about that too. And soon enough, Peter confirms her suspicion with a shake of his head. 

"Oh I already know darling. You and your friends aren’t exactly subtle." 

"Then what the hell are you getting at? I made you paint my nails!” 

"I know. Next time you should let me do your toes too." 

She gapes at him, speechless. She should be mad but she isn’t. Instead she wonders what he could possibly gain from any of it. She asks again, not really expecting for an answer but Peter surprises her. 

"Would it be so difficult to accept I actually like spending time with you? You —- you’re something else, Lydia. Something fantastic. You’re wickedly smart, almost too smart for your own good, and you take crap from no one. Me included. I like it, makes me feel… normal.” he smirks. Lydia doesn’t know what to say but she doesn’t have to, because it seems now is Peter turn to get something off his chest. His nicely toned, broad chest. Lydia forces her eyes back on his when he carries on. 

"I don’t know what I’m going to do with the knowledge of having offspring, and you were right with what you said. You know me, better than I do. There isn’t a reason in this world why I wouldn’t you around me, keeping me straight. Well, ish.” 

Lydia blushes. Blushes. She hasn’t done that since third grade. What is it about Peter that has her swooning like… like a school girl. Oh god. She clears her throat. 

"So, what now? You want to hold hands and look at the sunset?” 

Peter rolls his eyes. “Not like I turned completely soft because of a few nice words." he says and pulls Lydia against him. “I’m still more than capable of ruining you in the most excrusiatingly delicious ways.” he pulls Lydia even closer, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispers “I can still make you scream.” 


End file.
